Chapter IX: Part 9

CH. God shall determine the end-- II
But for thine answer, friend,
Waft soft words low!
All sick men's sleep, we know,
Hath open eye;
Their quickly ruffling mind
Quivers in lightest wind,
Sleepless in slumber new danger to spy.

Think, O my lord, of thy path,
Secretly look forth afar,
What wilt thou do for thy need?
How with the wise wilt thou care?
If toward the nameless thy heart
Chooseth this merciful part,
Huge are the dangers that drift.

The wind is fair, my son, the wind is fair, The man is dark and helpless, stretched in night. (O kind, warm sleep that calmest human care!) Powerless of hand and foot and ear and sight, Blind, as one lying in the house of death. (Think well if here thou utterest timely breath.) This, O my son, is all my thought can find, Best are the toils that without frightening bind.

NEO. Hush! One word more were madness. He revives. His eye hath motion. He uplifts his head.

PHI. Fair daylight following sleep, and ye, dear friends, Faithful beyond all hope in tending me! I never could have dreamed that thou, dear youth, Couldst thus have borne my sufferings and stood near So full of pity to relieve my pain. Not so the worthy generals of the host;-- This princely patience was not theirs to show. Only thy noble nature, nobly sprung, Made light of all the trouble, though oppressed With fetid odours and unceasing cries. And now, since this my plague would seem to yield Some pause and brief forgetfulness of pain, With thine own hand, my son, upraise me here, And set me on my feet, that, when my strength After exhaustion shall return again, We may move shoreward and launch forth with speed.

NEO. I feel unhoped-for gladness when I see Thy painless gaze, and hear thy living breath, For thine appearance and surroundings both Were deathlike. But arise! Or, if thou wilt, These men shall raise thee. For they will not shrink From toil which thou and I at once enjoin.

PHI. Right, right, my son! But lift me thine own self, As I am sure thou meanest. Let these be, Lest they be burdened with the noisome smell Before the time. Enough for them to bear The trouble on board.

NEO. I will; stand up, endure!

PHI. Fear not. Old habit will enable me.

NEO. O me! What shall I do? Now 'tis my turn to exclaim!

PHI. What canst thou mean? What change is here, my son?

NEO. I know not how to shift the troublous word. 'Tis hopeless.

PHI. What is hopeless? Speak not so, Dear child!

NEO. But so my wretched lot hath fallen.

PHI. Ah! Can it be, the offence of my disease Hath moved thee not to take me now on board?

NEO. All is offence to one who hath forced himself From the true bent to an unbecoming deed.

PHI. Nought misbecoming to thyself or sire Doest thou or speak'st, befriending a good man.

NEO. My baseness will appear. That wrings my soul.

PHI. Not in thy deeds. But for thy words, I fear me!

NEO. O Heaven! Must double vileness then be mine Both shameful silence and most shameful speech?

PHI. Or my discernment is at fault, or thou Mean'st to betray me and make voyage without me.

NEO. Nay, not without thee, there is my distress! Lest I convey thee to thy bitter grief.

PHI. How? How, dear youth? I do not understand.

NEO. Here I unveil it. Thou art to sail to Troy, To join the chieftains and the Achaean host.

PHI. What do I hear? Ah!

NEO. Grieve not till you learn.

PHI. Learn what? What wilt thou make of me? What mean'st thou?

NEO. First to release thee from this plague, and then With thee to go and take the realm of Troy.

PHI. And is this thine intent?

NEO. 'Tis so ordained Unchangeably. Be not dismayed! 'Tis so.

PHI. Me miserable! I am betrayed, undone! What guile is here? My bow! give back my bow!

NEO. I may not. Interest, and duty too, Force me to obey commandment.

PHI. O thou fire, Thou terror of the world! Dark instrument Of ever-hateful guile!--What hast thou done? How thou hast cheated me! Art not ashamed To look on him that sued to thee for shelter? O heart of stone, thou hast stolen my life away With yonder bow!--Ah, yet I beg of thee, Give it me back, my son, I entreat thee, give! By all thy father worshipped, rob me not Of life!--Ah me! Now he will speak no more, But turns away, obdurate to retain it. O ye, my comrades in this wilderness, Rude creatures of the rocks, O promontories, Creeks, precipices of the hills, to you And your familiar presence I complain Of this foul trespass of Achilles' son. Sworn to convey me home, to Troy he bears me. And under pledge of his right hand hath ta'en And holds from me perforce my wondrous bow, The sacred gift of Zeus-born Heracles, Thinking to wave it midst the Achaean host Triumphantly for his. In conquering me He vaunts as of some valorous feat, and knows not He is spoiling a mere corse, an empty dream, The shadow of a vapour. In my strength He ne'er had vanquished me. Even as I am, He could not, but by guile. Now, all forlorn, I am abused, deceived. What must I do? Nay, give it me. Nay, yet be thy true self! Thou art silent. I am lost. O misery! Rude face of rock, back I return to thee And thy twin gateway, robbed of arms and food, To wither in thy cave companionless:-- No more with these mine arrows to destroy Or flying bird or mountain-roving beast. But, all unhappy! I myself must be The feast of those on whom I fed, the chase Of that I hunted, and shall dearly pay In bloody quittance for their death, through one Who seemed all ignorant of sinful guile. Perish,--not till I am certain if thy heart Will change once more,--if not, my curse on thee!

CH. What shall we do, my lord? We wait thy word Or to sail now, or yield to his desire.

NEO. My heart is pressed with a strange pity for him, Not now beginning, but long since begun.

PHI. Ay, pity me, my son! by all above, Make not thy name a scorn by wronging me!

NEO. O! I am troubled sore. What must I do? Would I had never left mine island home!

PHI. Thou art not base, but seemest to have learnt Some baseness from base men. Now, as 'tis meet, Be better guided--leave me mine arms, and go.

NEO. (_to Chorus_). What shall we do?

_Enter_ ODYSSEUS.

ODYSSEUS. What art thou doing, knave? Give me that bow, and haste thee back again.

PHI. Alas! What do I hear? Odysseus' voice?

OD. Be sure of that, Odysseus, whom thou seest.

PHI. Oh, I am bought and sold, undone! 'Twas he That kidnapped me, and robbed me of my bow.

OD. Yea. I deny it not. Be sure, 'twas I.

PHI. Give back, my son, the bow; release it!

OD. That, Though he desire it, he shall never do. Thou too shalt march along, or these shall force thee.

PHI. They force me! O thou boldest of bad men! They force me?

OD. If thou com'st not willingly.

PHI. O Lemnian earth and thou almighty flame, Hephaestos' workmanship, shall this be borne, That he by force must drag me from your care?

OD. 'Tis Zeus, I tell thee, monarch of this isle, Who thus hath willed. I am his minister.

PHI. Wretch, what vile words thy wit hath power to say! The gods are liars when invoked by thee.

OD. Nay, 'tis their truth compels thee to this voyage.

PHI. I will not have it so.

OD. I will. Thou shalt.

PHI. Woe for my wretchedness! My father, then, Begat no freeman, but a slave in me.

OD. Nay, but the peer of noblest men, with whom Thou art to take and ravage Troy with might.

PHI. Never,--though I must suffer direst woe,-- While this steep Lemnian ground is mine to tread!

OD. What now is thine intent?

PHI. Down from the crag This head shall plunge and stain the crag beneath.

OD. (_to the Attendants_.) Ay, seize and bind him. Baffle him in this.

PHI. Poor hands, for lack of your beloved string, Caught by this craven! O corrupted soul! How thou hast undermined me, having taken To screen thy quest this youth to me unknown, Far worthier of my friendship than of thine, Who knew no better than to obey command. Even now 'tis manifest he burns within With pain for his own error and my wrong. But, though unwilling and mapt for ill, Thy crafty, mean, and cranny spying soul Too well hath lessoned him in sinful lore. Now thou hast bound me, O thou wretch, and thinkest To take me from this coast, where thou didst cast me Outlawed and desolate, a corpse 'mongst men. Oh! I curse thee now, as ofttimes in the past: But since Heaven yields me nought but bitterness, Thou livest and art blithe, while 'tis my pain To live on in my misery, laughed to scorn By thee and Atreus' sons, those generals twain Whom thou art serving in this chase. But thou With strong compulsion and deceit was driven Troyward, whilst I, poor victim, of free will Took my seven ships and sailed there, yet was thrown Far from all honour,--as thou sayest, by them, But, as they turn the tale, by thee.--And now Why fetch me hence and take me? To what end? I am nothing, dead to you this many a year. How, O thou Heaven-abhorred! am I not now Lame and of evil smell? how shall ye vaunt Before the gods drink-offering or the fat Of victims, if I sail among your crew? For this, as ye professed, was the chief cause Why ye disowned me. Perish!--So ye shall, For the wrong done me, if the Heavens be just. And that they are, I know. Else had ye ne'er Sailed on this errand for an outcast wretch, Had they not pricked your heart with thoughts of me. Oh, if ye pity me, chastising powers, And thou, the Genius of my land, revenge, Revenge this crime on all their heads at once! My life is pitiable; but if I saw Their ruin, I would think me well and strong.

CH. How full of bitterness is his resolve, Wrathfully spoken with unbending will!

OD. I might speak long in answer, did the time Give scope, but now one thing is mine to say. I am known to vary with the varying need; And when 'tis tried, who can be just and good, My peer will not be found for piety. But though on all occasions covetous Of victory, this once I yield to thee, And willingly. Unhand him there. Let go! Leave him to stay. What further use of thee, When we have ta'en these arms? Have we not Teucer, Skilled in this mystery? Yea, I may boast Myself thine equal both in strength and aim To wield them. Fare thee well, then! Thou art free To roam thy barren isle. We need thee not. Let us be going! And perchance thy gift May bring thy destined glory to my brow.

PHI. What shall I do? Alas, shalt thou be seen Graced with mine arms amongst Achaean men?

OD. No more! I am going.

PHI. O Achilles' child! Wilt thou, too, vanish? Must I lose thy voice?

OD. Come on, and look not, noble though thou be, Lest thou undo our fortune.

PHI. Mariners, Must ye, too, leave me thus disconsolate? Will ye not pity me?

CH. Our captain's here. Whate'er he saith to thee, that we too speak.

NEO. My chief will call me weakling, soft of heart; But go not yet, since our friend bids you stay. Till we have prayed, and all be ready on board. Meanwhile, perchance, he may conceive some thought That favours our design. We two will start; And ye, be swift to speed forth at our call. [_Exit_

MONODY.

PHI. O cavern of the hollow rock, I 1 Frosty and stifling in the seasons' change! How I seem fated never more to range From thy sad covert, that hath felt the shock Of pain on pain, steeped with my wretchedness. Now thou wilt be my comforter in death! Grief haunted harbour, choked with my distress! Tell me, what hope is mine of daily food, Who will be careful for my good? I fail. Ye cowering creatures of the sky, Oh, as ye fly, Snatch me, borne upward on the blast's sharp breath!

CH. 1. Thou child of misery! No mightier power hath this decreed, But thine own will and deed Hath bound thee thus in grief, Since, when kind Heaven had sent relief And shown the path of wisdom firm and sure, Thou still hast chosen this evil to endure.

PHI. O hapless life, sore bruised with pain! I 2 No more with living mortal may I dwell, But ever pining in this desert cell With lonely grief, all famished must remain And perish; for what food is mine to share, When this strong arm no longer wields my bow, Whose fleet shafts flew to smite the birds of air I was o'erthrown by words, words dark and blind, Low-creeping from a traitorous mind! O might I see him, whose unrighteous thought This ruin wrought, Plagued for no less a period with like woe!

CH. 2. Not by our craft thou art caught, But Destiny divine hath wrought The net that holds thee bound. Aim not at us the sound Of thy dread curse with dire disaster fraught. On others let that light! 'Tis our true care Thou should'st not scorn our love in thy despair.

PHI. Now, seated by the shore II 1 Of heaving ocean hoar, He mocks me, waving high The sole support of my precarious being, The bow which none e'er held but I. O treasure of my heart, torn from this hand, That loved thy touch,--if thou canst understand, How sad must be thy look in seeing Thy master destined now no more, Like Heracles of yore, To wield thee with an archer's might! But in the grasp of an all-scheming wight, O bitter change! thou art plied; And swaying ever by his side, Shalt view his life of dark malignity, Teeming with guileful shames, like those he wrought on me.

CH. 3. Nobly to speak for the right
Is manly and strong;
But not with an envious blight
To envenom the tongue;
He to serve all his friends of the fleet,
One obeying a many-voiced word,
Through the minist'ring craft of our lord
Hath but done what was meet.

PHI. Come, legions of the wild, II 2
Of aspect fierce or mild,
Fowl from the fields of air,
And beasts that roam with bright untroubled gaze,
No longer bounding from my lair
Fly mine approach! Now freely without fear
Ye may surround my covert and come near,
Treading the savage rock-strewn ways.
The might I had is no more mine,
Stolen with those arms divine.
This fort hath no man to defend.
Come satisfy your vengeful jaws, and rend
These quivering tainted limbs!
Already hovering death bedims
My fainting sense. Who thus can live on air,
Tasting no gift of earth that breathing mortals share?

CH. 4. Ah! do not shrink from thy friend,
If love thou reverest,
But know 'tis for thee to forfend
The fate which thou fearest.
The lot thou hast here to deplore,
Is sad evermore to maintain,
And hardship in sickness is sore,
But sorest in pain.

PHI. Kindest of all that e'er before III Have trod this shore, Again thou mind'st me of mine ancient woe! Why wilt thou ruin me? What wouldst thou do?

CH. 5. How mean'st thou?

PHI. If to Troy, of me abhorred Thou e'er hast hoped to lead me with thy lord.

CH. 6. So I judge best.

PHI. Begone at once, begone!

CH. 7. Sweet is that word, and swiftly shall be done! Let us be gone, each to his place on board. [The Chorus _make as if they were going_

PHI. Nay, by dear Zeus, to whom all suppliants moan Leave me not yet!

CH. 8. Keep measure in thy word.

PHI. Stay, by Heaven, stay!

CH. 9. What wilt thou say?

PHI. O misery! O cruel power That rul'st this hour! I am destroyed. Ah me! O poor torn limb, what shall I do with thee Through all my days to be? Ah, strangers, come, return, return!

CH. 10. What new command are we to learn Crossing thy former mind?

PHI. Ah! yet be kind. Reprove not him, whose tongue, with grief distraught, Obeys not, in dark storms, the helm of thought!

CH. 11. Come, poor friend, the way we call.

PHI. Never, learn it once for all! Not though he, whom Heaven obeys, Blast me with fierce lightning's blaze! Perish Troy, and all your host, That have chosen, to their cost, To despise and cast me forth, Since my wound obscured my worth! Ah, but, strangers, if your sense Hath o'er-mastered this offence, Yield but one thing to my prayer!

CH. 12. What wouldst thou have?

PHI. Some weapon bare, Axe or sword or sharpened dart, Bring it to content my heart.

CH. 13. What is thy new intent?

PHI. To sever point by point This body, joint from joint. On bloody death my mind is bent.

CH. 14. Wherefore?

PHI. To see my father's face.

CH. 15. Where upon earth?

PHI. He hath no place Where sun doth shine, but in the halls of night. O native country, land of my delight, Would I were blest one moment with thy sight! Why did I leave thy sacred dew And loose my vessels from thy shore, To join the hateful Danaaen crew And lend them succour? Oh, I am no more!

LEADER OF CH. Long since thou hadst seen me nearing yonder ship, Had I not spied Odysseus and the son Of great Achilles hastening to our side.

OD. Wilt thou not tell me why thou art hurrying This backward journey with reverted speed?

NEO. To undo what I have wrongly done to-day.

OD. Thy words appal me. What is wrongly done?

NEO. When in obeying thee and all the host--

OD. Thou didst what deed that misbecame thy life?

NEO. I conquered with base stratagem and fraud--

OD. Whom? What new plan is rising in thy mind?

NEO. Not new. But to the child of Poeas here--

OD. What wilt thou do? I quake with strange alarm.

NEO. From whom I took these weapons, back again----

OD. O Heaven! thou wilt not give them! Mean'st thou this?

NEO. Yea, for I have them through base sinful means.

OD. I pray thee, speak'st thou thus to anger me?

NEO. If the truth anger thee, the truth is said.

OD. Achilles' son! What word is fallen from thee?

NEO. Must the same syllables be thrice thrown forth?

OD. Once was too much. Would they had ne'er been said!

NEO. Enough. Thou hast heard my purpose clearly told.

OD. I know what power shall thwart thee in the deed.

NEO. Whose will shall hinder me?

OD. The Achaean host And I among them.

NEO. Thou'rt sharp-witted, sure! But little wit or wisdom show'st thou here.

OD. Neither thy words nor thy design is wise.

NEO. But if 'tis righteous, that is better far.

OD. How righteous, to release what thou hast ta'en By my device?

NEO. I sinned a shameful sin, And I will do mine utmost to retrieve it.

OD. How? Fear'st thou not the Achaeans in this act?

NEO. In doing right I fear not them nor thee.

OD. I call thy power in question.

NEO. Then I'll fight, Not with Troy's legions, but with thee.

OD. Come on! Let fortune arbitrate.

NEO. Thou seest my hand Feeling the hilt.

OD. And me thou soon shalt see Doing the like and dallying not!--And yet I will not touch thee, but will go and tell The army, that shall wreak this on thy head. [_Exit_

NEO. Thou show'st discretion: which if thou preserve, Thou may'st maintain a path exempt from pain. Ho! son of Poeas, Philoctetes, come And leave thy habitation in the rock.

PHI. What noise again is troubling my poor cave? Why do ye summon me? What crave ye, sirs? Ha! 'tis some knavery. Are ye come to add Some monster evil to my mountainous woe?

NEO. Fear not, but hearken to what now I speak.

PHI. I needs must fear thee, whose fair words erewhile Brought me to bitter fortune.

NEO. May not men Repent and change?

PHI. Such wast thou in thy talk, When thou didst rob me of my bow,--so bright Without, so black within.

NEO. Ah, but not now, Assure thee! Only let me hear thy will, Is 't constant to remain here and endure, Or to make voyage with us?

PHI. Stop, speak no more! Idle and vain will all thine utterance be.

NEO. Thou art so resolved?

PHI. More firmly than I say.

NEO. I would I might have brought thee to my mind, But since my words are out of tune, I have done.

PHI. Thou wert best. No word of thine can touch my soul Or win me to thy love, who by deceit Hast reft my life away. And then thou com'st To school me,--of noblest father, basest son! Perish, the Atridae first of all, and then Laertes' child, and thou!

NEO. Curse me no more, But take this hallowed weapon from my hand.

PHI. What words are these? Am I again deceived?

NEO. No, by the holiest name of Zeus on high!

PHI. O voice of gladness, if thy speech be true!

NEO. The deed shall prove it. Only reach thy hand, And be again sole master of thy bow. [ODYSSEUS _appears_

OD. But I make protest, in the sight of Heaven, For Atreus' sons, and all the Achaean host.

PHI. Dear son, whose voice disturbs us? Do I hear Odysseus?

OD. Ay, and thou behold'st him nigh, And he shall force thee to the Trojan plain, Howe'er Achilles' offspring make or mar.

PHI. This shaft shall bear thee sorrow for that boast.

NEO. Let it not fly, by Heaven!

PHI. Dear child, let go Mine arm!

NEO. I will not. [_Exit_ ODYSSEUS

PHI. Ah! Why hast thou robbed My bow of bringing down mine enemy?

NEO. This were ignoble both for thee and me.

PHI. One thing is manifest, the first o' the host Lying forerunners of the Achaean band, Are brave with words, but cowards with the steel.

NEO. Well, now the bow is thine. Thou hast no cause For blame or anger any more 'gainst me.

PHI. None. Thou hast proved thy birthright, dearest boy. Not from the loins of Sisyphus thou earnest, But from Achilles, who in life was held Noblest of men alive, and now o' the dead.

NEO. It gladdens me that thou shouldst speak in praise Both of my sire and me. But hear me tell The boon for which I sue thee.--Mortal men Must bear such evils as high Heaven ordains; But those afflicted by self-chosen ills, Like thine to-day, receive not from just men Or kind indulgence or compassionate thought. And thou art restive grown, and wilt not hearken, But though one counsel thee with kind'st intent, Wilt take him for a dark malignant foe. Yet, calling Zeus to witness for my soul, Once more I will speak. Know this, and mark it well: Thou bear'st this sickness by a heavenly doom, Through coming near to Chrysa's sentinel, The lurking snake, that guards the sky-roofed fold[7]. And from this plague thou ne'er shall find reprieve While the same Sun god rears him from the east And droops to west again, till thou be come Of thine own willing mind to Troia's plain, Where our physicians, sons of Phoebus' child[8], Shall soothe thee from thy sore, and thou with me And with this bow shalt take Troy's citadel. How do I know this? I will tell thee straight We have a Trojan captive, Helenus, Both prince and prophet, who hath clearly told This must be so, yea, and ere harvest time This year, great Troy must fall, else if his words Be falsified, who will may slay the seer. Now, since thou know'st of this, yield thy consent; For glorious is the gain, being singled forth From all the Greeks as noblest, first to come To healing hands, and then to win renown Unrivalled, vanquishing all tearful Troy.

PHI. Oh how I hate my life! Why must it keep This breathing form from sinking to the shades? How can I prove a rebel to his mind Who thus exhorts me with affectionate heart? And yet, oh misery! must I give way? Then how could I endure the light of heaven? With whom could I exchange a word? Ay me! Eyes that have seen each act of my sad life, How could ye bear it, to behold the sons Of Atreus, my destroyers, comrades now And friends! Laertes' wicked son, my friend! And less I feel the grief of former wrong Than shudder with expectance of fresh harm They yet may work on me. For when the mind Hath once been mother of an evil brood, It nurses nought but evils. Yea, at thee I marvel. Thou should'st ne'er return to Troy, Nor suffer me to go, when thou remember'st What insult they have done thee, ravishing Thy father's rights from thee. And wilt thou then Sail to befriend them, pressing me in aid? Nay, do not, son; but, even as thou hast sworn, Convey me home, and thou, in Scyros dwelling, Leave to their evil doom those evil men. So thou shalt win a twofold gratitude From me and from my father, and not seem, Helping vile men, to be as vile as they.

NEO. 'Tis fairly spoken. Yet I would that thou Relying on my word and on Heaven's aid, Would'st voyage forth from Lemnos with thy friend.

PHI. Mean'st thou to Troy, and to the hateful sons Of Atreus, me, with this distressful limb?

NEO. Nay, but to those that will relieve the pain Of thy torn foot and heal thee of thy plague.

PHI. Thy words are horrible. What mean'st thou, boy?

NEO. The act I deem the noblest for us both.

PHI. Wilt thou speak so? Where is thy fear of Heaven?

NEO. Why should I fear, when I see certain gain?

PHI. Gain for the sons of Atreus, or for me?

NEO. Methinks a friend should give thee friendly counsel.

PHI. Friendly, to hand me over to my foes?

NEO. Ah, be not hardened in thy misery!

PHI. I know thou wilt ruin me by what thou speakest.

NEO. Not I. The case is dark to thee, I see.

PHI. I know the Atreidae cast me on this rock.

NEO. But how, if they should save thee afterward?

PHI. They ne'er shall make me see Troy with my will.

NEO. Hard is my fortune, then, if by no sleight Of reasoning I can draw thee to my mind. For me, 'twere easiest to end speech, that thou Might'st live on as thou livest in hopeless pain.

PHI. Then leave me to my fate!--But thou hast touched My right hand with thine own, and given consent To bear me to my home. Do this, dear son! And do not linger to take thought of Troy. Enough that name hath echoed in my groans.

NEO. If thou wilt, let us be going.

PHI. Nobly hast thou said the word.

NEO. Lean thy steps on mine.

PHI. As firmly as my foot will strength afford.

NEO. Ah! but how shall I escape Achaean anger?

PHI. Do not care!

NEO. Ah! but should they spoil my country!

PHI. I to shield thee will be there.

NEO. How to shield me, how to aid me?

PHI. With the shafts of Heracles I will scare them.

NEO. Give thy blessing to this isle, and come in peace.

HERACLES _appears from above._

HERACLES. First, son of Poeas, wait till thou hast heard The voice of Heracles, and weighed his word. Him thou beholdest from the Heavenly seat Come down, for thee leaving the blest retreat, To tell thee all high Zeus intends, and stay Thy purpose in the journey of to-day. Then hear me, first how after my long toils By strange adventure I have found and won Immortal glory, which thine eyes perceive; And the like lot, I tell thee, shall be thine, After these pains to rise to glorious fame. Sailing with this thy comrade to Troy-town, First thou shalt heal thee from thy grievous sore, And then, being singled forth from all the host As noblest, thou shalt conquer with that bow Paris, prime author of these years of harm, And capture Troy, and bear back to thy hall The choicest guerdon, for thy valour's meed, To Oeta's vale and thine own father's home. But every prize thou tak'st be sure thou bear Unto my pyre, in memory of my bow. This word, Achilles' offspring, is for thee No less. For, as thou could'st not without him, So, without thee, he cannot conquer Troy. Then, like twin lions hunting the same hill, Guard thou him, and he thee! and I will send Asclepius Troyward to relieve thy pain. For Ilion now a second time must fall Before the Herculean bow. But, take good heed, Midst all your spoil to hold the gods in awe. For our great Father counteth piety Far above all. This follows men in death, And fails them not when they resign their breath.

PHI. Thou whom I have longed to see,
Thy dear voice is law to me.

NEO. I obey with gladdened heart.

HER. Lose no time: at once depart!
Bright occasion and fair wind
Urge your vessel from behind.

PHI. Come, let me bless the region ere I go.
Poor house, sad comrade of my watch, farewell!
Ye nymphs of meadows where soft waters flow
Thou ocean headland, pealing thy deep knell,
Where oft within my cavern as I lay
My hair was moist with dashing south-wind's spray,
And ofttimes came from Hermes' foreland high
Sad replication of my storm-vext cry;
Ye fountains and thou Lycian water sweet,--
I never thought to leave you, yet my feet
Are turning from your paths,--we part for aye.
Farewell! and waft me kindly on my way,
O Lemnian earth enclosed by circling seas,
To sail, where mighty Fate my course decrees,
And friendly voices point me, and the will
Of that heroic power, who doth this act fulfil.

CH. Come now all in one strong band;
Then, ere loosing from the land,
Pray we to the nymphs of sea
Kind protectresses to be,
Till we touch the Trojan strand.

* * * * *

OEDIPUS AT COLONOS

THE PERSONS

OEDIPUS, _old and blind._ ANTIGONE, _his daughter, a young girl._ ISMENE, _his daughter, a young girl._ CHORUS _of Village Guardians._ _An Athenian._ THESEUS, _King of Athens._ CREON, _Envoy from Thebes._ POLYNICES, _the elder son of Oedipus._ _Messenger._

SCENE. Colonos.

Oedipus had remained at Thebes for some time after his fall. But he was afterwards banished by the command of Creon, with the consent of his own sons. Their intention at first was to lay no claim to the throne. But by-and-by ambition prevailed with Eteocles, the younger- born, and he persuaded Creon and the citizens to banish his elder brother. Polynices took refuge at Argos, where he married the daughter of Adrastus, and levied an army of auxiliaries to support his pretensions to the throne of Thebes. Before going into exile Oedipus had cursed his sons.

Antigone after a while fled forth to join her father and support him in his wanderings. Ismene also once brought him secret intelligence.

Years have now elapsed, and the Delphian oracle proclaims that if Oedipus dies in a foreign land the enemies of Thebes shall overcome her.

In ignorance of this fact, Oedipus, now aged as well as blind, and led by his daughter Antigone, appears before the grove of the Eumenides, at Colonos, in the neighbourhood of Athens. He has felt an inward intimation, which is strengthened by some words of the oracle received by him long since at Delphi, that his involuntary crimes have been atoned for, and that the Avenging Deities will now receive him kindly and make his cause their own.

After some natural hesitation on the part of the village-councillors of Colonos, Oedipus is received with princely magnanimity by Theseus, who takes him under the protection of Athens, and defends him against the machinations of Creon.

Thus the blessing of the Gods, which Oedipus carried with him, is secured to Athens, and denied to Thebes. The craft of Creon and the prayers of Polynices alike prove unavailing. Then the man of many sorrows, whose essential nobleness has survived them all, passes away mysteriously from the sight of men.

The scene is laid at Colonos, a suburb of Athens much frequented by the upper classes, especially the Knights (see Thuc. viii. 67); and before the sacred grove of the Eumenides, or Gentle Goddesses, a euphemistic title for the Erinyes, or Goddesses of Vengeance.

OEDIPUS AT COLONOS

OEDIPUS. ANTIGONE.

OEDIPUS. Antigone, child of the old blind sire, What land is here, what people? Who to-day Shall dole to Oedipus, the wandering exile, Their meagre gifts? Little I ask, and less Receive with full contentment; for my woes, And the long years ripening the noble mind, Have schooled me to endure.--But, O my child, If thou espiest where we may sit, though near Some holy precinct, stay me and set me there, Till we may learn where we are come. 'Tis ours To hear the will of strangers and to obey.

ANTIGONE. Woe-wearied father, yonder city's wall That shields her, looks far distant; but this ground Is surely sacred, thickly planted over With olive, bay and vine, within whose bowers Thick-fluttering song-birds make sweet melody. Here then repose thee on this unhewn stone. Thou hast travelled far to-day for one so old.

OED. Seat me, my child, and be the blind man's guard.

ANT. Long time hath well instructed me in that.

OED. Now, canst thou tell me where we have set our feet?

ANT. Athens I know, but not the nearer ground.

OED. Ay, every man that met us in the way Named Athens.

ANT. Shall I go, then, and find out The name of the spot?

OED. Yes, if 'tis habitable.

ANT. It is inhabited. Yet I need not go. I see a man even now approaching here.

OED. How? Makes he towards us? Is he drawing nigh?

ANT. He is close beside us. Whatsoe'er thou findest Good to be spoken, say it. The man is here.

_Enter an_ Athenian.

OED. O stranger, learning from this maid, who sees Both for herself and me, that thou art come With timely light to clear our troubled thought--

ATHENIAN. Ere thou ask more, come forth from where thou sittest! Ye trench on soil forbidden human tread.

OED. What soil? And to what Power thus consecrate?

ATH. None may go near, nor dwell there. 'Tis possessed By the dread sisters, children of Earth and Night.

OED. What holy name will please them, if I pray?

ATH. 'All seeing Gentle Powers' the dwellers here Would call them. But each land hath its own rule.

OED. And gently may they look on him who now Implores them, and will never leave this grove!

ATH. What saying is this?

OED. The watchword of my doom.

ATH. Yet dare I not remove thee, till the town Have heard my purpose and confirm the deed.

OED. By Heaven, I pray thee, stranger, scorn me not, Poor wanderer that I am, but answer me.

ATH. Make clear thy drift. Thou'lt get no scorn from me.

OED. Then, pray thee, tell me how ye name the place Where now I sit.

ATH. The region all around Is sacred. For 'tis guarded and possessed By dread Poseidon, and the Titan mind That brought us fire--Prometheus. But that floor Whereon thy feet are resting, hath been called The brazen threshold of our land, the stay Of glorious Athens, and the neighbouring fields Are fain to honour for their patron-god Thee, O Colonos, first of Knights, whose name [_Pointing to a statue_ They bear in brotherhood and own for theirs. Such, friend, believe me, is this place, not praised In story, but of many a heart beloved.

OED. Then is the land inhabited of men?

ATH. By men, who name them from Colonos there.

OED. Have they a lord, or sways the people's voice?

ATH. Lord Theseus, child of Aegeus, our late king.

OED. Will some one of your people bring him hither?

ATH. Wherefore? What urgent cause requires his presence?

OED. He shall gain mightily by granting little.

ATH. Who can gain profit from the blind?

OED. The words These lips shall utter, shall be full of sight.

ATH. Well, thou look'st nobly, but for thy hard fate. This course is safe. Thus do. Stay where I found thee, Till I go tell the neighbour townsmen here Not of the city, but Colonos. They Shall judge for thee to abide or to depart. [_Exit_

OED. Tell me, my daughter, is the man away?

ANT. He is gone, father. I alone am near. Speak what thou wilt in peace and quietness.

OED. Dread Forms of holy Fear, since in this land Your sanctuary first gave my limbs repose, Be not obdurate to my prayer, nor spurn The voice of Phoebus, who that fateful day, When he proclaimed my host of ills to come, Told me of rest after a weary time, Where else but here? 'When I should reach my bourne, And find repose and refuge with the Powers Of reverend name, my troubled life should end With blessing to the men who sheltered me, And curses on their race who banished me and sent me wandering forth.' Whereof he vouched me Sure token, or by earthquake, or by fire From heaven, or thundrous voices. And I know Some aery message from your shrine hath drawn me With winged whisper to this grove. Not else Had ye first met me coming, nor had I Sate on your dread unchiselled seat of stone, With dry cold lips greeting your sober shrine. Then give Apollo's word due course, and give Completion to my life, if in your sight These toils and sorrows past the human bound Seem not too little. Kindly, gentle powers, Offspring of primal darkness, hear my prayer! Hear it, Athenai, of all cities queen, Great Pallas' foster-city! Look with ruth On this poor shadow of great Oedipus, This fading semblance of his kingly form.

ANT. Be silent now. There comes an aged band With jealous looks to know thine errand here.

OED. I will be silent, and thine arm shall guide My footstep under covert of the grove Out of the path, till I make sure what words These men will utter. Warily to observe Is the prime secret of the prudent mind. [_Exeunt_

CHORUS (_entering_).
Keep watch! Who is it? Look! 1
Where is he? Vanished! Gone! Oh where?
Most uncontrolled of men!
Look well, inquire him out,
Search keenly in every nook!
--Some wanderer is the aged wight,
A wanderer surely, not a native here.
Else never had he gone within
The untrodden grove
Of these--unmarried, unapproachable in might,
--Whose name we dare not breathe,
But pass their shrine
Without a look, without a word,
Uttering the unheard voice of reverential thought.
But now, one comes, they tell, devoid of awe,
Whom, peering all around this grove
I find not, where he abideth.

OED. (_behind_). Behold me! For I 'see by sound,' As mortals say.

CH. Oh, Oh! With horror I see him, with horror hear him speak.

OED. Pray you, regard me not as a transgressor!

CH. Defend us, Zeus! Who is that aged wight?

OED. Not one of happiest fate, Or enviable, O guardians of this land! 'Tis manifest; else had I not come hither Led by another's eyes, not moored my bark On such a slender stay.

CH. Alas! And are thine eyes 2
Sightless? O full of misery,
As thou look'st full of years!
But not, if I prevail,
Shalt thou bring down this curse.
Thou art trespassing. Yet keep thy foot
From stumbling in that verdant, voiceless dell,
Where running water as it fills
The hallowed bowl,
Mingles with draughts[1] of honey. Stranger, hapless one!
Avoid that with all care.
Away! Remove!
Distance impedes the sound. Dost hear,
Woe-burdened wanderer? If aught thou carest to bring
Before our council, leave forbidden ground,
And there, where all have liberty,
Speak,--but till then, avaunt thee!

OED. Daughter, what must I think, or do?

ANT. My sire! We must conform us to the people's will, Yielding ere they compel.

OED. Give me thy hand.

ANT. Thou hast it.

OED. --Strangers, let me not Be wronged, when I have trusted you And come from where I stood!

CH. Assure thee, from this seat No man shall drag thee off against thy will.

OED. Farther?

CH. Advance thy foot.

OED. Yet more?

CH. Assist him onward Maiden, thou hast thy sight.

ANT. Come, follow, this way follow with thy darkened steps, Father, the way I am leading thee.

CH. Content thee, sojourning in a strange land, O man of woe! To eschew whate'er the city holds in hate, And honour what she loves!

OED. Then do thou lead me, child, Where with our feet secure from sin We may be suffered both to speak and hear. Let us not war against necessity.

CH. There! From that bench of rock Go not again astray.

OED. Even here?

CH. Enough, I tell thee.

OED. May I sit?

CH. Ay, crouch thee low adown Crooking thy limbs, upon the stone.

ANT. Father, this task is mine-- Sink gently down into thy resting-place,

OED. Woe is me!

ANT. Supporting on this loving hand Thy reverend aged form.

OED. Woe, for my cruel fate! [OEDIPUS _is seated_

CH. Now thou unbendest from thy stubborn ways, O man of woe! Declare, what mortal wight thou art, That, marked by troublous fortune, here art led. What native country, shall we learn, is thine?

OED. O strangers, I have none! But do not--

CH. What dost thou forbid, old sir?

OED. Do not, oh, do not ask me who I am, Nor probe me with more question.

CH. What dost thou mean?

OED. My birth is dreadful.

CH. Tell it forth.

OED. What should I utter, O my child? Woe is me!

CH. Thy seed, thy father's name, stranger, pronounce!

OED. Alas! What must I do? My child!

ANT. Since no resource avails thee, speak!

OED. I will. I cannot hide it further.

CH. Ye are long about it. Haste thee!

OED. Know ye of one Begotten of Laius?

CH. Horror! Horror! Oh!

OED. Derived from Labdacus?

CH. O Heaven!

OED. Fate-wearied Oedipus?

CH. Art thou he?

OED. Fear not my words.

CH. Oh! Oh!

OED. Unhappy me!

CH. Oh!

OED. Daughter, what is coming?

CH. Away! Go forth. Leave ye the land. Begone!

OED. And where, then, is the promise thou hast given?

CH. No doom retributive attends the deed That wreaks prevenient wrong. Deceit, matched with deceit, makes recompense Of evil, not of kindness. Get thee forth! Desert that seat again, and from this land Unmooring speed thee away, lest on our state Thou bring some further bale!

MONODY.

ANT. O strangers, full of reverent care! Since ye cannot endure my father here, Aged and blind, Because ye have heard a rumour of the deeds He did unknowingly,--yet, we entreat you. Strangers, have pity on me, the hapless girl, Who pray for mine own sire and for none else, --Pray, looking in your eyes with eyes not blind. As if a daughter had appeared to you. Pleading for mercy to the unfortunate. We are in your hands as in the hand of God, Helpless. O then accord the unhoped for boon! By what is dear to thee, thy veriest own, I pray thee,--chattel or child, or holier name! Search through the world, thou wilt not find the man Who could resist the leading of a God.

CH. Daughter of Oedipus, be well assured We view with pity both thy case and his, But fear of Heavenly wrath confines our speech To that we have already said to you.

OED. What profit lives in fame and fair renown By unsubstantial rumour idly spread? When Athens is extolled with peerless praise For reverence, and for mercy!--She alone The sufferer's shield, the exile's comforter! What have I reaped hereof? Ye have raised me up From yonder seat, and now would drive me forth Fearing a name! For there is nought in me Or deeds of mine to make you fear. My life Hath more of wrong endured than of wrong done, Were it but lawful to disclose to you Wherefore ye dread me,--not my sin but theirs, My mother's and my sire's. I know your thought. Yet never can ye fasten guilt on me, Who, though I had acted with the clear'st intent, Were guiltless, for my deed requited wrong. But as it was, all blindly I went forth On that dire road, while they who planned my death Planned it with perfect knowledge. Therefore, sirs, By Heaven I pray you, as ye have bid me rise, Protect your suppliant without fail; and do not In jealous reverence for the blessed Gods Rob them of truest reverence, but know this:-- God looks upon the righteousness of men And their unrighteousness, nor ever yet Hath one escaped who wrought iniquity. Take part, then, with the Gods, nor overcloud The golden fame of Athens with dark deeds; But as ye have pledged your faith to shelter me, Defend me and rescue, not rejecting me Through mere abhorrence of my ruined face. For on a holy mission am I come, Sent with rich blessings for your neighbours here. And when the head and sovereign of your folk Is present, ye shall learn the truth at full. Till then, be gracious to me, and not perverse.

CH. Thy meaning needs must strike our hearts with awe, Old wanderer! so weighty are the words That body it forth. Therefore we are content The Lord of Athens shall decide this case.

OED. And where is he who rules this country, sirs?

CH. He keeps his father's citadel. But one Is gone to fetch him, he who brought us hither.

OED. Think you he will consider the blind man, And come in person here to visit him?

CH. Be sure he will,--when he hath heard thy name.

OED. And who will carry that?

CH. 'Tis a long road; But rumour from the lips of wayfarers Flies far and wide, so that he needs must hear; And hearing, never doubt but he will come. So noised in every land hath been thy name, Old sovereign,--were he sunk in drowsiness, That sound would bring him swiftly to thy side.

OED. Well, may he come to bless his city and me! When hath not goodness blessed the giver of good?

ANT. O Heavens! What shall I say, what think, my father?

OED. Daughter Antigone, what is it?

ANT. I see A woman coming toward us, mounted well On a fair Sicilian palfrey, and her face With brow-defending hood of Thessaly Is shadowed from the sun. What must I think? Is it she or no? Can the eye so far deceive? It is. 'Tis not. Unhappy that I am, I know not.--Yes, 'tis she. For drawing near She greets me with bright glances, and declares Beyond a doubt, Ismene's self is here.

OED. What say'st thou, daughter?

ANT. That I see thy child, My sister. Soon her voice will make thee sure.

_Enter_ ISMENE.

ISMENE. Father and sister!--names for ever dear! Hard hath it been to find you, yea, and hard I feel it now to look on you for grief.

OED. Child, art thou here?

ISM. Father! O sight of pain!

OED. Offspring and sister!

ISM. Woe for thy dark fate!

OED. Hast thou come, daughter?

ISM. On a troublous way.

OED. Touch me, my child!

ISM. I give a hand to both.

OED. To her and me?

ISM. Three linked in one sad knot.

OED. Child, wherefore art thou come?

ISM. In care for thee.

OED. Because you missed me?

ISM. Ay, and to bring thee tidings, With the only slave whom I could trust.

OED. And they, Thy brethren, what of them? Were they not there To take this journey for their father's good?

ISM. Ask not of them. Dire deeds are theirs to day.

OED. How in all points their life obeys the law Of Egypt, where the men keep house and weave Sitting within doors, while the wives abroad Provide with ceaseless toil the means of life. So in your case, my daughters, they who should Have ta'en this burden on them, bide at home Like maidens, while ye take their place, and lighten My miseries by your toil. Antigone, E'er since her childhood ended, and her frame Was firmly knit, with ceaseless ministry Still tends upon the old man's wandering, Oft in the forest ranging up and down Fasting and barefoot through the burning heat Or pelting rain, nor thinks, unhappy maid, Of home or comfort, so her father's need Be satisfied. And thou, that camest before, Eluding the Cadmeans, and didst tell me What words Apollo had pronounced on me. And when they banished me, stood'st firm to shield me, What news, Ismene, bring'st thou to thy sire To day? What mission sped thee forth? I know Thou com'st not idly, but with fears for me.

ISM. Father, I will not say what I endured In searching out the place that sheltered thee. To tell it o'er would but renew the pain. But of the danger now encompassing Thine ill starred sons,--of that I came to speak. At first they strove with Creon and declared The throne should be left vacant and the town Freed from pollution,--paying deep regard In their debate to the dark heritage Of ruin that o'ershadowed all thy race. Far different is the strife which holds them now, Since some great Power, joined to their sinful mind, Incites them both to seize on sovereign sway. Eteocles, in pride of younger years, Robbed elder Polynices of his right, Dethroned and banished him. To Argos then Goes exiled Polynices, and obtains Through intermarriage a strong favouring league, Whose word is, 'Either Argos vanquishes The seed of Cadmus or exalts their fame' This, father, is no tissue of empty talk, But dreadful truth, nor can I tell where Heaven Is to reveal his mercy to thy woe.

OED. And hadst thou ever hoped the Gods would care For mine affliction, and restore my life?

ISM. I hope it now since this last oracle.

OED. What oracle hath been declared, my child?

ISM. That they shall seek thee forth, alive or dead, To bring salvation to the Theban race.

OED. Who can win safety through such help as mine?

ISM. 'Tis said their victory depends on thee.

OED. When shrunk to nothing, am I indeed a man?

ISM. Yea, for the Gods uphold thee, who then destroyed.

OED. Poor work, to uphold in age who falls when young!

ISM. Know howsoe'er that Creon will be here For this same end, ere many an hour be spent.

OED. For what end, daughter? Tell me in plain speech.

ISM. To set thee near their land, that thou may'st be Beyond their borders, but within their power.

OED. What good am I, thus lying at their gate?

ISM. Thine inauspicious burial brings them woe.

OED. There needs no oracle to tell one that.

ISM. And therefore they would place thee near their land, Where thou may'st have no power upon thyself.

OED. Say then, shall Theban dust o'ershadow me?

ISM. The blood of kindred cleaving to thy hand, Father, forbids thee.

OED. Never, then, henceforth, Shall they lay hold on me!

ISM. If that be true, The brood of Cadmus shall have bale.

OED. What cause Having appeared, will bring this doom to pass?

ISM. Thy wrath, when they are marshalled at thy tomb.

OED. From whom hast thou heard this?

ISM. Sworn messengers Brought such report from Delphi's holy shrine.

OED. Hath Phoebus so pronounced my destiny?

ISM. So they declare who brought the answer back.

OED. Did my sons hear?

ISM. They know it, both of them.

OED. Villains, who, being informed of such a word, Turned not their thoughts toward me, but rather chose Ambition and a throne!

ISM. It wounds mine ear To hear it spoken, but the news I bring Is to that stern effect.